I feel the most when I’m alone I wait Hoping for a witness When I turn inside and paint my bones in clay Then out again Now my bones are steady as a rock. I am static Pulsing in water Praying the river will flow Watching the rain fall like a mother’s cry. There’s a strange taste in my mouth Metallic Like rocks and a certain distaste for deafening men Like the remnants of my virginity The river rushes I am alone in the flow Now sense is nourishment And sip the solitude. The river runs The clay dries anyway.
